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for Joat to scrape together. But twenty thousand . . . That was an absolutely staggering fine for any ship, let alone a struggling independent freighter like hers. Bros grinned. Ridding her of a fine that size ought to engender a lot of gratitude, he thought comfortably. Then his pleasure slowly faded. Joat Simeon-Hap wasn't someone he'd like to see broken to the plow, jumping when he snapped his fingers, dancing when he pulled her strings. He didn't want CenSec to lose her. But I don't want them to own her soul either. Them? he asked himself in mild surprise. He frowned. It had been many years since he'd thought of CenSec as other than we, or . I Some of that girl's independence is rubbing off on me, he thought ruefully. "Sal," he said. Getting up he went to the heavy-shouldered man seated at an overburdened desk and dropped Joat's note in front of him. "Take care of this for me, would you? Joat Simeon-Hap s ship, the Wyal, has been fined by the station. Pay it out of my special account." "Sure, Mr. va Riguez, no problem," Sal said. He had a voice like stones grinding together. Bros picked up his jacket and swung it over his shoulder. "And if Captain Simeon-Hap should call looking for me, you don't know where I am." "I never do, sir," Sal agreed with a gap-toothed grin. "But you might ask her if she'd like to leave a message." Sal's sandy eyebrows went up. "I'm not sure I'm old enough to listen to the kind of language she's liable to use, sir." Bros chuckled. "You tell her that," he advised. Page 55 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html Sal stared at the door after it had closed behind Sperin, then he glanced at the note again. I'll take care of it tomorrow, he thought. It's not like they charge interest. He put the note aside and went back to work. CHAPTER SEVEN "Rand, I want you to record this as it plays, all right?" "Certainly, Joat. I had intended to anyway," Rand said. There was a faintly injured tone to the AI's voice. "All right, people, got your note screens ready?" Joseph and Alvec nodded. "Well, okay, it's showtime!" Joat entered the datahedron Bros Sperin had given her and keyed it up. For a few moments, as a fluid computer voice relayed the facts of Nomik Ciety s life, the only sound was the click of styli as they took notes. But with the first holo snap, Joat looked up, and froze. Her heartbeat speeded up until all she could hear was the sound of her own blood rushing. Pounding through her, beating against her fingertips, pulsing in her temples. Her sight narrowed to a tunnel sparked with black and white. When at last she took another breath it roared in her ears like a cyclone. Nomik Ciety, Nomik . .. Ciety. The face on the screen shifted from the scrawny, mad-eyed youth with a number across his chest to a grown man's, well dressed and smooth. A respectable businessman to all appearances, with a friendly smile and a twinkle in his eye. Her own blond hair, face a little angular. Cheekbones like those that greeted her every morning in the screen. Uncle Nom, she thought. You're not dead! I was so sure you were dead. She felt numb now, and her heart rate was returning to normal. It was in the nature of humankind, to believe in what they most deeply wished to be true. Joat closed her eyes and took a slow, quiet deep breath. Amos comes first, she thought desperately. But memory bubbled up, eating away at the failing barrier of her will. She tightened her fist around the stylus, gripping it like a lifeline. The part of her he'd betrayed screamed in frustrated rage: You were only seven! You were just a baby and he sold you to that sick bastard! She was looking back at Uncle Nom as a big, smelly, shambling man led her away, his grip like a clamp on her skinny arm. Uncle Nom was waving and smiling. "Bye-bye," he called. "Uncanom," she heard her own thin, little girl's voice call out, "Uncle Nom!" Tears blurred her vision. She blinked, her jaw was clenched so hard the muscles jumped and she felt sweat begin to bead her upper lip. Joat took a deep breath, trying to keep control. Trying to deny what she felt, because it was joy. Sheer, undiluted joy; a savage intensity of feeling that nothing in her life had ever rivaled. How nice that you're not dead, Uncle Nom, she thought, fighting back a giggle. Knowing that she wouldn't be able to stop if she started. And then they'd ask questions. I don't want any questions. Page 56 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html Uncle Nom was hers. All hers. My toy to break, she thought with gleeful viciousness. But she didn't have to hurry. Now she knew about him. There was no way he could hide from her, no place in all the worlds. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |